s opening my wallet again. "I am sorry to hear you say that," said
I, handing him two bills of a hundred dollars each. "Sorry, because it
has cost you twenty-eight hundred dollars."

"My God, man, what do you mean?" he gasped, even his fingers slow to
take both money and contempt.

"That the pearl is worth to me that much, since I have purpose for it.
I have more money than I want, and fewer pearls like this than I want.
It would have given me the keenest sort of pleasure to give you and
your mother a few thousand dollars, two or three, to set you up with a
little launch and an outfit enough to give you a good start--and,
perhaps, a good partner. As it is, you are lucky my pirate brother has
not blown a hole through you, and that my other brother has not shed
the blood of your parent, if she have any. You had a good chance, and
like many another man who isn't good enough to deserve success, you
lost it. Do you know why you failed?"

"It's the luck," said he. "I never had none."

"No," said I, "it is not that. So far as luck goes, you are lucky you
are alive. Little do you know our desperate band. Little do you know
you have escaped the wrath of Lafitte, of L'Olonnois, of Black Bart.
Luck! No, that is not why you failed."

"What then?" he demanded, still covetous, albeit rueful, too, at what
he vaguely knew was lost opportunity.

"It was because you did not play the part of a clammer naturally and
nobly," I replied. "My friend, I counsel you to read Epictetus--and
while you are at that," I added, "I suggest you read also that other
classic, the one known as _The Pirate's Own Book_."

So saying, since he stood stupefied, and really not seeing my hand,
which I reached out to him in farewell, I called to Partial, and
followed by the two stern and relentless figures, made our way back to
the spot where the good ship _Sea Rover_ lay straining at her hawser.

"What ho! messmates!" I cried. "Fortune has been kind to our bold
band this day. We have taken large booty. Let us up anchor and set
sail. Before yon sun has sunk into the deep we shall be far away, and
our swift craft is able to shake off all pursuit."

"Whither away, Black Bart,--Captain, I mean!" said Jean Lafitte (and I
blushed at this title and this hard-won rank, as one of the proudest
of my swiftly-following accomplishments in happiness).

"Spang! to the Spanish Main," was my reply.

A moment later, the waves were rippling merrily along the sides of the